“Let that horse alone!” cried the youngster, kicking at Eve with his bare foot.
But Eve Sitz wasn’t afraid of any boy—not even had he been of her own size and age. Her open palm smacked the youngster’s head resoundingly and he staggered away, bawling:
“Lemme erlone! Hebe! Hebron Pocock! I wantcher!”
Laura was already backing the mare, preparatory to turning about.
“Come on with the colt, Eve!” she cried.
The boy they had unhorsed continued to bawl at the top of his voice. But for the moment nobody appeared. Eve lengthened the bridle rein for a leading strap and then essayed to climb into the cart again. The boy ceased crying and threw a stone. The colt jumped and tried to pull away, for the stone struck her.
“Whoa, Jinks!” cried Eve. “If I could catch that boy! I’d do more than box his ears—so I would!”
“Come on, Eve!” called Laura, looking over her shoulder. “Here come some women from the shanties. They will do something to us beside calling us names——or throwing stones,” as she dodged one that the boy sent in her direction.
“Whoa, Jinksey!” commanded Eve, again, trying to lead the frightened colt toward the cart.
“Hebe Pocock! Yi-yi! You’re wanted!” yelled the small boy again, sending down a perfect shower of stones from the bank above them, but fortunately throwing them wild.